Monday, February 27, 2012

Andrew Burke/ THE ORPHAN IN MY ROOM

In nineteen sixty three at age nineteen, I crossedthe Nullarbor, the longest straight stretch in the world sitting up on Australian Nationalrailways, Sydney to Perth.too old to stay with Mother,I rented a bed in a boarding houseabove a city cafe. Living on savings,I shared a room with a strangerto stretch the point to its limit.An LP cost 52/6 back then.the man in my room wasthick-set, of medium heightwith curly close-cropped ginger hairand cloudy hazel eyes, a firemanfrom Perth City Station, a lonerwho grew up in an orphanage, takenfrom his mother in England and shippedto Australia 'for his own good'. Tryasking him about that, 'for his own good'.So much bunkum. As we came and went,he marveled at the girls I knew and Ibelieved his dramatic tales. He hadno one, said he wasn't worth it, hada beer at the end of the bar occasionally,bet on the ponies with his loose change,but otherwise, read popular magazineson his bed, chin thrust forward againstwhatever the world served up next.Sunday's the cathedrals' bellsscattered pigeons, while in our quarterthe streets lay bare. Right by Perth'scentral fire station was the Salvo's Citadel.Sunday mornings their brass band wouldset up music stands on a nearby cornerand play. The fireman and i would gothere, not for the message butthe music. talk of God was off limits, we listened in silence. Ten yearsbetween us, curiosity kept usin each other's company. That's the wayof poets and fireman, curious to a fault,late night creaking on ghostly beds.'Turn your light away, will ya?''Yeah, sure, sorry.' He huffed.'And don't apologise every five minutes.''Sorry.' we both laughed and turned backto Pix and Time.One day I arrivedto find him throwing his possessionsinto a duffel bag. 'What's up?' I asked.He looked up, eyes clearer than ever,and spat, 'I'm outta here, that's all,'threw in two magazines and tied up.I followed him to the stairs, bewildered,silenced by the hostility coming off him.The old bat who ran the joint waitedat the door. Sniffing came from the kitchen-loud, melodramatic sniffing.I shouted, 'Where're you going?'from the top of the stairs as hestopped at the door and turned.The old bat barred the door with her body,as he shouted over her shoulder,'See ya, mate." I stood still as he took off.She watched him, then shouted,'Good riddance! and slammed the door.